


Cradle And All

by toomanysunkenships



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Johncroft, M/M, Mpreg, Parentlock, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock does make an appearance, They get a dog, but Mycroft, its angsty, post baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysunkenships/pseuds/toomanysunkenships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wasn't ready for the Fall, Mycroft helps him through the aftermath. When Sherlock decides to enlighten John to his existence, he finds one small addition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Raining, It's Pouring

John hadn't moved in quite some time. He'd been curled up in the chair facing Sherlock's, just staring into space. Mrs. Hudson would walk in and place food near him, which he ate, but she was the only person he would see. He didn't get up to feed himself. He didn't speak. The only thing he did was stare, use the restroom, and eat. 

The cameras Mycroft installed the year previous assured him of that. Because of this, Mycroft found himself outside of the flat on Baker Street for lunch.    
He went on a Wednesday with a case.   
"Thank you for the food, Mycroft," John said, his voice raspy from disuse.   
Those were the only words he said. He didn't reach for the case when it was offered to him and only held onto his knee in silence.    
He came again the next day.   
"Don't you have something better to do?" John asked.   
"Not particularly," Mycroft replied, "I have a minor position, the world will carry on if I break for a lunch meeting."   
He smiled, John frowned.   
"The world doesn't seem to stop spinning for any of us, does it?" John whispered.   
He accepted the file then. He sat up in the chair slowly and pulled the Manila folder close to his heart.   
"No, it doesn't," Mycroft said.   
They finished their food in silence.

* * *

 

John Watson missed Sherlock Holmes. He felt as if that should mean something to someone who wasn't him. He supposed he should be angry, after all anger is the standard feeling when someone leaves you like that. But he felt empty. He was on the phone with Sherlock after all, he should have picked up on it.

But it didn't count for much. Rent was still due when it was due, only now he had to pay both parts. The clock still chimed, he still found body parts in the apartment, and Sherlock was no more. John closed his eyes and curled into himself. He couldn't quite fit into his chair entirely, but he tried. He slept in the chair. It was painful enough, this sitting room. He couldn't deal with anything else. Especially the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson, bless her, had been bringing him food when she made hers. They still hadn't exhausted the pity casseroles. Neither could muster much of an appetite. Sherlock had been gone for three weeks now. The world moved on.

Mycroft was a change. He'd come the week before, given John a folder full of "get over it already" and left. How Mycroft was so fine, he'd never know. But he looked at the case. The "we pity John Watson" case that nearly anyone could crack. He'd finished the case and now Mycroft was back.

"Have you been sleeping in this chair, then?" Mycroft asked.   
"I'm sure you know the answer to that," John said.

Mycroft said nothing.   
"It's not even been a month, Mycroft," John said quietly.   
"This isn't me telling you to forget him. This is me asking you to remember yourself," Mycroft said.   
John squirmed in the chair. It was not the most comfortable thing in the room.   
"There's too much history here. You'll be coming to my house, coming back to yourself," Mycroft said.

"You can't order me about. You can't take his place," John said.   
Mycroft sighed.   
"I know," he said.   
He handed John another folder.   
"It's an option," Mycroft said.   
Then he walked out the door.


	2. To Fetch a Pail of Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ is text messages ~

John buttoned his coat. Another week down. Mycroft had a point, he couldn't simply live his life this way. He couldn't continue this silent countdown, this sick anticipation of seeing Sherlock again. He'd seen the body. Sherlock wasn't coming back. And John was growing worried that the countdown wasn't to seeing him walk through the door, but for the day he himself took his last breath and woke up in some afterlife with Sherlock. But that wasn't practical. John walked towards the door.   
Lunch with Mycroft wasn't so difficult. He could manage it if he tried. He touched his fingers to the door handle. 

"Going out?" Mrs Hudson asked.

John smiled weakly.

"Yes," he said.

She smiled at him.

"Sherlock would want you to go," she said.

"We weren't a couple, Mrs. Hudson. It's just lunch," he said.

She smiled a knowing smile. John felt.. something. He hadn't felt much in awhile.

"I miss him too," she said.

John smiled tightly and opened the door.   
He made his way to Mycroft's without much fuss. Anthea was there to greet him. He nodded at her and wandered up the winding stairs.

"John," Mycroft said.

"Why is your house so big?" John asked.

"You could do with the exercise," Mycroft said.

John stepped back slightly and winced.

"That was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?" Mycroft said.

John shook his head.

"You're not very good at people," John said.

"That's not incorrect," Mycroft allowed.

John looked around.

"Sit on the chair just there," Mycroft said.

John obeyed.

"Why am I here?" he asked.

Mycroft paused. 

"You're here because you need to find who you are without him. You've forgotten," Mycroft said.

John noticed he was very careful to never say "move on".   
He looked around the room and let his eyes focus on a hat. It had a pom on the top. John wondered why he didn't bring a hat. It was getting colder.

"I'm sure you know by now, he and I," Mycroft said.

"You can say the name," John said quietly.

"Sherlock didn't do this alone. That I helped him... prepare," Mycroft said .

Helped him die, more like. John bit his lip.

"I promised him I'd look after you, John. I don't break my promises," Mycroft continued.

"I don't need looking after," John said.

Mycroft nodded.

"I won't break this promise," he said.

John looked at the hat again.

"Today you left the flat. Do you think you can go farther?" Mycroft asked.

"To?" John asked.

"To Sherlock's grave," Mycroft said.   
John thought it was a reflection of his desire to hurt that he said yes.   
  
Mycroft stood a respectful distance from John as he talked to the grave. He saw the slight movement of a black trenchcoat behind a tree. He nodded. Sherlock would be in touch. John would be ready to accept him upon his return. He'd done well. John turned around and gave Mycroft a small nod.

“Home?” Mycroft asked.

“I don't think I can go there just yet,” John said. 

“Anthea will take you wherever you wish to go,” Mycroft said.

John nodded. He made his way to the parking lot. He was obviously disappointed. Mycroft wondered about that.

He stood in the same spot. 

~look after him- SH

~Always.


	3. Lullaby and Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the weird formatting. I'm messaging myself this story on Facebook and then copying it into a document because it's easier for me to get the thoughts of that way but each time I started a new message it leaves a space for some reason

Mycroft flipped through his papers and sighed. This would have been the perfect case for Sherlock, were he not off somewhere playing his game.   
"Sir?" the maid said.   
"Yes, Jenny?"Mycroft said.   
"John Watson is here to see you, "she said.   
He was?   
" Yes, thank you, Jenny, "Mycroft said.   
What was John doing here so late? Anthea had dropped him off at Lestrade's nearly four hours ago.

Mycroft dusted off his top and adjusted his plate of cookies. He went downstairs. If John had come here, best not keep him waiting.   
"You're wearing pajamas," John said.   
His speech was slightly slurred.   
"It's late, John. I'm prepared for bed," Mycroft said.   
Why come here when drunk?

"You're quite nice," John said.   
"Alright, well, I'll just have my maid put you to bed. Goodnight, John," Mycroft said quickly.    
He kept his features schooled and rang for someone to come down.   
Sleep that night did not come easy.

John woke up in the morning with a headache and blurry eyes. He rubbed his arm across his face and groaned. Drinking with Anderson and Lestrade was not a good idea. Both men had too much they wanted to forget. John didn't want to forget so much. He wanted to numb. But he drank anyway. 

Spit was crusted on the corner of his lip. He angrily brushed at it.

He looked around the room. The shades were drawn and the lights dimmed.   
How long had there been a dimmer switch? He must have been pathetic the night before for Mrs. Hudson to turn it on. But, be didn't recognize those curtains. He looked again. This was not his flat.   
"Please tell me I didn't go home with some random,"John whispered.   
He pressed his palm against his forehead and stumbled out of the room.

"Mycroft?" John whispered to himself, "I went home with Mycroft?"   
He stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge.   
"That is bright," he said.

He pulled out orange juice and sniffed it. Did he actually want orange juice? He put it back.    
John made his way through the house until he found Mycroft's room. He was reclining in his bed, reading.

"John? Do you need something?" Mycroft asked.   
"You're not sleeping," John said.   
"You slept through an entire day," Mycroft said.   
John simply looked at him.   
"I have difficulty sleeping," Mycroft said by way of explanation.    
John walked into the room.   
"Yes?" Mycroft said.   
"I usually do, since.. since Sherlock..." John said, "I can help you."   
"I'm alright, John. Help yourself to the kitchen," Mycroft said.   
John sighed.   
"I used to do the same to Sherlock. He wouldn't sleep, it's not healthy to miss so much sleep," he said.   
Mycroft nodded then, something John was grateful for. He hadn't been needed in a month.

He moved to Mycroft's shoulders and rubbed them in his hands.   
"I did this a lot in service as well. It helps, a war zone is not the best lullaby," John said.

Mycroft relaxed almost immediately. John kneaded his back. He trailed his fingers along Mycroft's shirt and then laid him back.   
Mycroft took a loud breath. John sat on the bed and hummed. Mycroft closed his eyes. John waited for him to fall asleep before he made it back to the room he fell asleep in.   
Yes, it felt good to be needed again


	4. Home, Home on the Range

It could be said that Mycroft Holmes had never slept better in his life. Mycroft would probably never say such a thing out loud, but if he ever were to, he would not be lying. He found himself wishing he hadn't sent John away. He dressed swiftly, letting himself dare to believe that John might've stayed if he had. 

He found John in the kitchen, sinking a biscuit into a cold glass. What a curious thing. Mycroft was smiling.

“Hello Mycroft,” John smiled.

Mycroft paused. That was a thing John hadn't done in awhile either.

“What is it?” John asked.

“You're smiling,” Mycroft said.

John popped another biscuit into his mouth. He hadn't much felt like smiling since Sherlock. He didn't have much by way of companions. Sure, there were war buddies. But they had their own lives. Families. The people from before the war had moved on as well. But since he was injured, since he came home, it had been Sherlock and the people who orbited him. Sherlock was his best friend.

“I'm happy,” John said, and it was the truth.

It took him a long time to be okay with that. It felt like a betrayal, the first time Mycroft had dropped by and brought a thrill in his wake. He revived John. The cases were a nice return to routine. Mycroft needed John, and John needed Mycroft.

John had soon realized he couldn't go through life pretending only one person has ever cared for him. Especially a person who admitted he could not care for anyone, and had exactly one friend. A worrisome thing, to have only one friend.

John frowned.

Not a problem any more.

Mycroft returned from the kitchen with his slice of cake. John was frowning again, he noticed. To cheer someone up? Mycroft wasn't very good with people he didn't need to impress. That mask was easy. That mask was practiced.

“I slept well last night, thank you,” Mycroft said.

John smiled at him.

“Magic fingers,” he said.

Job well done.

“You were good for him,” Mycroft said.

“We weren't together,” John said quickly, “He wasn't… I don't..”

Mycroft laughed.

“I know my brother as well as you do, John, “he said, “ but you were good for him.”

John nodded solemnly. 

And for a week Mycroft didn't try to bring it up again.

“Are you planning to return home at any point?” Mycroft asked.

John smiled faintly.

“I don't quite think that's home anymore,” he said.

Mycroft nodded.

“I'm glad,” he said.


	5. Johnny Put the Kettle On

John had claimed a chair in the corner of Mycroft’s study. Why, Mycroft couldn’t quite understand, as there were perfectly many unoccupied but adequately furnished rooms inside of his house. 

He looked over at John, who would seem to the world to be peacefully napping, but the world was not Mycroft Holmes. The world was full of goldfish with the minor exception of The Holmes Boys.

That was one of the more difficult bits of pretending your brother was no longer a part of the world. To some he seemed cold and uncaring. These were the ones who tried to ‘save’ John upon discovering he had been living with Mycroft for the better part of a month. Anderson, the insolent dick, had offered his own flat if “you’re down on your luck, suddenly paying both halves of rent. Not that you’re unused to picking up the slack. A man with a drug-.”

He was interrupted at that point by Lestrade, the one who had informed Mycroft. 

“John..” Mycroft said.

John did not stir.

“I know you’re not asleep. John, why didn’t you take Anderson’s offer?” he asked.

John smiled.

“You’re just like him,” John said quietly, before his smile fell.

Mycroft said nothing. John opened his eyes.

“Observant. And you try to pretend like you don’t enjoy me about,” he said.

“I simply want to know the answer,” Mycroft said.

“Serious voice, then. I don’t...I can’t quite manage that. You understand why I’m ‘still upset’, and you know that though he wasn’t perfect…. you loved Sherlock,” John said.

“And did you love Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

John smiled, a small, wry smile.

“I think we all love Sherlock. From the moment you meet him, you can’t help it,” he replied.

Mycroft decided against pointing out the present tense and lack of an answer.

John curled further into his chair. This being something he only did when he was comfortable but vulnerable.

“Well, as I’m decidedly not asleep, I suppose I’ll put some tea on. Will you have some?” he asked.

Mycroft blinked in surprise.

“Please,” he said, “with-”

“One sugar, dash of milk, and a peppermint round in the bottom. I know,” John said.

He walked out of the room, Mycroft watching after him.

  
  
  



	6. All the Way to Market

“Do you truly never do your own shopping?” John said, laughing.

Mycroft frowned at a row of pasta boxes.

“I’ve never had need to. Anthea knows what I enjoy, and until recently I wasn’t at home so often,” he said.

John wondered if he was a bother. He may not be anything like Sherlock, but he had some skills of deduction and was able to work out that Mycroft’s minor government job wasn’t quite as “minor” as he claimed. Surely he couldn’t work from home on matters of national importance.

“You don’t need to come home for dinner, then. It’s alright,” John said.

Mycroft coughed.

“That sentence does not fit you. I do what I like, the country continues to run in my absence,” he said.

John quickly turned to examine the rows of spaghetti sauce.

“I know work can take time… I suppose I haven’t a real job anymore. Not that it was quite a real job, as neither of us were legally allowed to do it,” John mused.

He grabbed a jar and placed it into the buggy.

“I don’t need pity, especially if it hurts your position,” he added.

He pushed the cart away. Mycroft followed.

“Your position has been legitimate since the moment you shot a man to save my brother’s life after less than 48 hours of acquaintance,” Mycroft said.

John looked at him.

“My brother is- was- a tornado and some things are too..precious to allow to blow away, coming back horribly changed in the aftermath,” Mycroft said.

John’s face flashed with anger. He was angry. But he didn’t know how to be angry with a dead man.

“I don’t think you saved me from blowing away,” John whispered, “I think you were first response after I came back down.”

Mycroft cleared his throat and looked away.

“I’m sure I can manage shopping for produce. Shall we split to grab these last few things?” he said.

* * *

 

~Postpone your revival - M

~Done. SH


	7. How Much is That Doggy in the Window?

John held the small key in between his forefinger and his thumb. He had a key to Mycroft’s now, though he supposed it was his place as well at this point. He’d given his own key back to Mrs. Hudson, who had taken it with a bittersweet sort of joy.

The small groove at the tip of the key fit nicely against John’s thumb. 

Nicely because it was molded to his thumbprint, nicked from the military’s database.

“What are you doing, John? Have you locked the door?” Mycroft asked.

“Sorry, just wondering how a ‘minor government official’ got a key like this one,” John said.

He locked the door and walked over to Mycroft.

“Questions don’t become you. Stop them,” Mycroft said.

John laughed.

“I know, I’ve had the key a month and I’ve asked you nearly every day since. I might catch you off guard, yet,” John said.

“I’m sure you’ll try,” Mycroft said.

They walked together down the street and past a nursery. John took a deep breath and smiled softly.

“What is it?” Mycroft asked.

“It’s nothing,” John said.

* * *

 

Mycroft sat restlessly on the couch. He didn’t much recline, but there was nothing to be done. John had cleaned every spot Anthea missed. 

John sat on the chair he’d claimed for himself and flipped through his phone. He gasped softly and looked up at Mycroft with wide eyes.

“Am I allowed a dog in here?” John asked.

“A dog?” Mycroft asked.

Of all the ridiculous things.

“Small thing, furry, big eyes, little tail?” John said.

Mycroft was filled with remembrances of Red Beard. Remembrances of Sherlock.

“Do what you like,” he said.

John’s smile reached his eyes as he nodded in gratitude. Mycroft’s frown softened. He raised his eyebrows upon catching himself. John went back to his phone. Mycroft decided the spices could do with a good alphabetizing.

* * *

 

John closed the door with his eyes on his new friend. It was perfectly natural to refer to a pet as such. The dog watched John with careful yet eager eyes. John leaned down to pet him.

“Oh, William,” he said quietly, “we shall have great fun together.”

A cough caught John’s attention.

“Is that it, then?” Mycroft asked.

“You could pretend to have a heart sometimes, you know,” John replied.

:It’s quite large,” Mycroft said.

John smiled.

“Well I thought you’d do better with a higher class of dog, and this little one here is a purebreed,” John said.

The dog barked.

“I know that, I do have enough sense to be able to recognize a borzoi on sight,” Mycroft said.

John raised his eyebrows.

“You...do? I had to ask, it’s not exactly common knowledge, Mycroft,” he said.

“Well of course. What have you named it?” Mycroft asked.

“William,” John said with a smile.

Mycroft paused.

“After..Sherlock?” he asked.

“No, wait what?” John said.

Mycroft looked at the dog.

“I suppose it is adequate. I’ve got a meeting,” Mycroft said.

John watched him leave.

“He’s an odd one, William,” John said.

William barked. 


	8. Pockets Full of Posies

John supposed it was about time to get a job. Or rather, he saw a help wanted poster outside the grocer's while he was tying William to a post.   
"That's one way of telling me to get off my arse, I suppose," John muttered.    
William barked.   
"Hush, you," John said as he rubbed behind Williams's ears.   
He walked into the store and quickly made his selection of dog food. Colorful toys lined the wall opposite.   
Mycroft would hate those. John smirked. He squeezed them all for good measure and selected the most obnoxious ones.    
It seemed every walk was filled with Help Wanted posters. John wondered if they had always been there or if the universe was shouting at him to get over himself.   
On impulse he plucked an application from a bouquet in front of the flower shop. He contemplated roses and vines on the way home.

* * *

 

Mycroft came home later than usual, because he did need to put in some actual hours. While the world would survive, his position wasn't set in stone. It required cultivation. 

He wandered into the living room searching for William, intending to give him a treat without catching John's attention.    
He found John lying on the floor, asleep, curled into William. A colorful animal shaped thing lie underneath John's arm.   
Mycroft smiled. He knew the thing would be a nuisance, so he picked it up and decided to hide it before John woke up. He walked back into the living room with a blanket and laid it over John's body.  His chest felt warm. He decided to retire as well.

* * *

 

"Why a florist? You are a military man. You are a doctor," Mycroft said.   
John looked at his feet.    
"I'm not fighting anymore. I don't want to fight anymore," John said.   
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.   
"You love the fight," he said softly.   
John looked up with conviction in his eyes.   
"I want to make floral arrangements and live here and raise my dog. I'm not in the fight anymore," he said.   
Mycroft smiled.   
"Good. I needed a discount. Pacifying foreign dignitaries is so costly," he said.   
John laughed.

"You won't be getting any discounts from me. I need all the money I can get off of you," he said.   
Mycroft attempted a pout.   
"Doesn't suit you. I'll say, you can get a repeat customer bonus," John said.   
"Consisting of?" Mycroft asked.   
"The dog toy you stole from William. Who steals from a dog? Honestly," John said, exasperated.   
Mycroft smiled.   
"You will never get that back," he said.   
John reached underneath the couch with a triumphant grin and retrieved a plastic bottle covered in fur and bells.   
"That's why I bought more than one. Good luck finding them all," he said.   
John left the room laughing.


	9. Kiss the Boys

The flower shop turned out to be a good fit for John. They tried to convince him he was over qualified and would be easily bored.  
Army doctor turned private detective, not suitable to weeding.  
But John was happy. The flowers were easy enough. Quiet. It was mostly plucking dead bulbs, arranging bouquets, and selling fertilizer. He was near the only one in the shop, subtracting the customers.  
And the stories. John thrived in the stories.  
"See, he's beautiful, he is," a man said.  
John smiled.  
"My boyfriend. Well, I say that but I'll be proposing tonight," he added.  
"That's lovely!" John said.  
The man smiled a nervous smile.  
"It's.. lovely. I know they say you're to never ask until you know that the answer's yes, I know it. But there's no certainties. Never any," he said quickly.  
"How long have you been together?" John asked.  
"Two years. Not long, but.. long. I've known him my whole life, I love him," the man said.

John smiled.

"I don't think he'll refuse you. But I'll wish you good luck, and I hope he likes the tulips," John said.

* * *

The man came back the next day holding the hand of a short, slender man. His face was shining and glad.  
"He said yes," the man said joyfully.  
The woman buying flowers for her mother's birthday clapped and smiled.  
"Well, of course I did, Stephen. Like you'd come back to the man who sold you engagement flowers and tell him they didn't work," the other man said.  
"Stephen, is it? I never asked your name," John said, "I'm John Watson."  
"I'm Garreth," the other man said.  
"We just wanted to thank you," Stephen said.  
"And to invite you to the wedding," Garreth said.  
John's mouth opened in shock.  
"Well, I didn't.. I didn't do much, I just run the register. And arrange the flowers when the manager can't," John said.  
"We don't have much by way of relatives, and that thins out our guest list," Garreth said.  
John frowned.  
"We do want you to come. When it happens. Can I leave my number?" Stephen asked.  
The woman at the counter grew visibly bored of pretending to browse the cards. John rushed to the register and helped her with her things.  
"Yeah, of course. Yes," John said.

* * *

Mycroft came into the place John worked at the end of John's shift and uncomfortably held Williams's leash.  
"Mycroft, you can't bring him.. I'm finishing up," John said.  
He logged out of the register and rushed himself along.  
Mycroft watched him curiously. The strings of the green apron John wore flapped about behind him. There was something nearly.. endearing about it.

"Why did you walk him that way? The leash is upside down, I know you're not an idiot," John said.  
Mycroft looked down.  
"I suppose I was distracted," he said.  
John rolled his eyes and took Williams' leash from Mycroft.  
What are you doing here, by the way? " John asked.  
Mycroft smiled.  
"You'd been gone. He needed a walk, and therefore we needed to find you," he said.  
John laughed.  
"I got invited to a wedding today," he said.  
"How lovely," Mycroft said tonelessly.  
"You knew," John accused.  
"How could I possibly- of course I knew. I know nearly everything," Mycroft said.  
"False humility is as damaging as pride," John said with a laugh.

They took the long way home


	10. One for Sorrow, One for Joy

Mycroft walked around his office. He hadn't been inside of it in quite some time, but he could not work from home every day. It simply wouldn't be practical. And- he frowned as he looked at the empty space of his desk and the neatly organized laptop that only just broke up the smooth expanse.

And he was trying to keep himself from the bizarre impulse to buy a picture frame.

Even still, to take a photograph to put inside of it! He had lived his life without feeling the desire to print out likenesses of those he spoke to and to line his desk with their smiles and expectations.

He wanted to buy a picture frame.

He had finished what needed to be done, but he did not want to face his home full of dog toys and useless potted plants and the smells of fresh baking. He wanted the white walls and the brown desk and the organized laptop that his work provided. That his past provided.

Though perhaps what he needed was exercise. William could do with a walk.

No.

He sat at his desk and opened the folder for tomorrow.

* * *

John brushed his hair from his eyes. It could do with a cutting. He repotted the lovely foliage into a bigger pot and hummed a song he had heard on the radio.

The shop had become his since he was nearly the only worker. He thought of it as his, at least. There was a back room with a little kitchen area and am office space. John loved being in there. He had various plant clippings that wouldn't sell but could do with some love bordering the floor and decorating the desk. Beside a particularly lovely begonia was a small photo of William.

John did realize that he had to actually see customers in order to keep his little space, so he wasn't in it very often.

He also loved the shop. It was bright and full of green things and good smells. It was personal, in a way that probably only made sense to John.

Most of the people who came in wanted to share.

Flowers for their Mum, a rose for a girlfriend, a funeral, a new home. One girl only wanted a photo of the flowers and John, for a school project. John relished talking to people who probably weren't dying.

John couldn't help but think of Mycroft, as his most certainly not dying companion was quickly becoming an integral part of his life.

He wondered if it was a talent of the Holmes' or if he was just easy to please.

* * *

Mycroft hadn't received a reply from Sherlock in a long time. He was certain that Sherlock was fine, or would shortly be, but still bristled at the lack of inquiries into John's well-being.

He did wonder if Sherlock listened to his selfish request for some alterior motive, or if he agreed because that was always his plan.

He did wonder if he was wrong to even consider asking such a thing of him.

He did wonder what it meant that his own brother was probably missing and he was more concerned with the well-being of one John Hamish Watson.

Instead of coming to any conclusions, he asked his secretary for her extra paperwork.

* * *

John sat on the couch and watched one of the silly programs Sherlock used to spend his time watching while eating a bag of crisps.

Mycroft came into the house looking harassed and clutching a grocery bag.

"Rough day being the government?"John asked.

Mycroft frowned.

"Alright, rotten mood then. What happened?" John asked.

"I need to tell you something. This might be.. impolite timing but I need to say," Mycroft began.

John nodded.

"I think I know what you're going to say," John said, interrupting him.

"I understand if you think less of me for this but,"Mycroft said.

John laughed.

"You don't need to injure yourself over this. I understand,"he said.

"John! Sherlock is not dead," Mycroft said.

John frowned.

"Yes, yes, he's alive in my heart. It was never going to happen between me and him. Don't chase ghosts, Mycroft, please, "John said.

He pulled Mycroft's face down to his own and kissed him gently. Mycroft held his eyes wide open. Mycroft dropped the bag he was holding.

John pulled away and smiled.

" Tomorrow is a better time for this," he said.

John picked up the picture frame that had fallen to the floor and placed it on the coffee table before smiling at Mycroft and making his way to his room.

Mycroft looked down at the picture frame and sighed.


	11. A Merrier Thing

Mycroft Holmes' first attempt at honesty had not gone as planned. Maybe it was the way he said it? Or perhaps he should have come home earlier to be sure that John consumed no alcohol. It could be some noxious fumes from a plant John lacked the experience to identify that made him so…

Mycroft looked down at his desk.

John had kissed him.

Mycroft had been hiding in his second study, as the first one was both a reminder of and a sanctuary for John. But he needed to try again. A Holmes boy should never give something up when set back. The false truths and misdirections weighed heavily on his mind.

He made his way down to the kitchen. John sat at the table sipping a glass of wine.

"Have you been drinking?" Mycroft said at the same time John sighed and said,

"I need to talk to you."

Mycroft stared at him.

"I'm sorry that I...about the…," John said.

"That isn't what bothered me, John. I don't dislike you," Mycroft replied in a rushed tone.

He wondered at himself. Mycroft simply did not _do_ rushed tones.

John downed his drink and poured another. Mycroft wondered if he should come back later.

"I'll go," he began to say.

"No. No, I'm sorry. I need to tell you this, it needs to be said," John mumbled.

Mycroft felt he should have left before he arrived. He did not need to hear about accidents and mistakes. He had heard about so many of those.

"I'm in love with you," John said.

"I don't understand," Mycroft replied.

John smiled at him.

"It means I think about you when I'm working with flowers that are delicate and rare. I wonder if telling you is a mistake. I can't hold it in any more. And I want to be able to tell you every time I remember it. Every time we do the shopping. Every time you walk the dog and hope I don't notice that you like him. I can't _lose_ you. Never talking to Sherlock.. I lost him," John said.

Mycroft was at a loss for words.

"You're drunk. Confused," Mycroft said.

"You don't believe me?" John asked.

Mycroft simply left the room.

* * *

John woke the next morning with a headache and a desire to see Mycroft. He remembered what he said, at least most of it. He wanted- not to take it back but he wanted to fix things. They had been living such an easy and comfortable life here, and this year with Mycroft had become so important to John.

_Oh, sorry, didn't mean to tell you. Not that I thought you incapable of responding properly.._

John shook his head and then groaned. No, not that. He went down to the kitchen to prepare coffee.

It wasn't so much that Mycroft had no feelings. More that he allowed himself none. It seemed to John a lonely way to live.

John put his head against the counter and wondered if going back to bed was the better method. Instead, the coffee machine made itself noticed by beeping and John opened the refrigerator to grab a creamer.

Mycroft cleared his throat behind John.

John turned around.

"Oh, did you want some? We've only got my flavored creamer left but I made enough," John said.

Mycroft nodded and handed John a bottle of pain pills.

"Thanks," John said quietly.

Making the coffee gave John something to do with his hands and he welcomed it.

"Do you remember what happened yesterday?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes," John said.

It grew silent between them, neither knowing just what to say. Only that John did not want to apologize and Mycroft did not want him to be sorry.

John handed Mycroft a mug.

"If I were to be sorry at all it would be for the way I told you, perhaps the timing," John said.

Mycroft took a large sip.

"I do not know how to respond," Mycroft admitted.

John smiled fondly.

"Will you let me show you? Do you feel anything for me?" he asked.

Mycroft put down his drink.

"Yes, I will," he said.

John smiled.

"We'll go to the zoo," he said.

"The zoo?" Mycroft asked.

John nodded.

Mycroft smiled at him, then, and wondered what he had done to deserve this.


	12. How I Wonder What You Are

Though they had only been on their first date for a few minutes, technically, John was rather optimistic. They hadn't been kidnapped by an Asian gang, or interrupted by a matter of national importance, or any other thing that seemed to happen to John often. Mycroft seemed reluctant about the choice of location, but was willing to experiment. In short, everything was perfect.

They started in the rainforest exhibit, trekking through the draping trees. John smiled at the false humidity and wondered about the technology, Mycroft frowned and wondered about his suit.

"This was always one of my favorite things to do," John said.

Mycroft made a small noise.

"When I was very young I loved the zoo. It's been so many years. I think we've earned the right to be childish today, don't you?" John added.

From there, Mycroft seemed more excited to be there.

They spent a long time in the gift shop turning change into decorations.

"Do you think we ought to eat?" John asked.

"I suppose so," Mycroft replied.

They ate cotton candy and burgers before heading off to see more sights.

* * *

Mycroft looked down at John and watched him smile at the butterflies that perched on his shoulder. John laughed quietly. A small blue butterfly with white wing tips fluttered near his nose and the wonder in John's eyes was becoming too much for Mycroft's self control. He looked around himself. Perhaps he didn't give off a scent that attracted things that were frail and beautiful. He looked at John again. Mycroft preferred things that were strong.

"I know you're watching me, Mycroft," John said.

Mycroft smiled.

"I am simply observant of all things in my surroundings," he said.

John smiled back.

"I wonder how it is that you're in such an important position, considering you can't lie at all," John said.

"Yes, I can," Mycroft said.

John shook his head and the butterflies surrounding him flew away.

In this moment, Mycroft regretted calling the non Holmes people goldfish. John was more infinitely precious and long lived and lovely than that.

"You know me in a way that others do not, I am perfectly competent in the art of deception," Mycroft said.

And, oh, how John's eyes sparkled.

* * *

John led Mycroft through the lines of enclosures and cages.

"I want to see the seals," he said.

"We've seen every animal-" Mycroft began.

John shrugged.

"I haven't been to the zoo since before the war. Seals were always my favorite," he said.

Mycroft's gaze softened.

"To the seals, then" he said.

They reached them quickly.

"It's feeding time!" a small child squealed.

Mycroft frowned down at him. John smiled at the child.

"I always loved watching them eat," he said.

The boy chatted happily to John and Mycroft watched the seals eat. There was something kinder about the world when it was only focused on animals and souvenirs. He longed to enjoy a kinder world.

John watched Mycroft as he looked at the seals. His gaze was open and interested in a way he rarely allowed it to be. John smiled to himself.

"I love you," he said.

Mycroft seemed not to hear him, but John saw him smile.


End file.
